


There Are Worse Things Than a Cold (Pepper and Cinnamon for Example)

by Tenacious_Minds



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-10-05 19:17:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17330822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tenacious_Minds/pseuds/Tenacious_Minds
Summary: Draco's sick and Harry is going to pin him down dump the Pepper-Up down his throat if he has too.





	There Are Worse Things Than a Cold (Pepper and Cinnamon for Example)

**Author's Note:**

> I posted this on Tumblr in August when I hit 2000 followers, but I like it enough that I decided it should be here too, even if it is a little on the short side. Enjoy!
> 
> Prompt- “Take the medicine. Yes I know it doesn’t taste good but you still need to take it. Now you’re just being a child. No. GET BACK HERE. YOU CANT JUST RUN AWAY FROM THIS”

 

 

“Draco.”

“Harry.”

The reply is croaky and quiet, Harry can barely suppress a sigh.

“You’re sick.”

Draco doesn't respond. Harry narrows his eyes.

He reaches up to rub at his eyes, before seemingly remembering himself and lowering it back towards his quill, squinting as the parchment in front of him and scribbling a few more words.

“You should stop. Take a break, go to Pomfrey. Just take some Pepper-up for Merlin’s sake. Something.”

“I don’t need it.”

“You don’t like it.”

Draco wrinkles his nose, but once again ignores Harry in favour of scribbling another sentence onto his Transfiguration essay. Harry’s pretty sure it’s all fever induced gibberish, from the looks of his printing its defiantly not up to his normal standards.

They’re sat in the back of the library, tucked into an isolated corner beside a green stained glass window.

Normally Harry has trouble concentrating because the light hits Draco in a way Harry has a hard time looking away from. This time it’s because his breathing is so laboured Harry worries Madam Pince will hear him all the way from her desk.

Draco sneezes and then groans pitifully, snuffling and rubbing at his chest. Harry’s had enough. He pulls the vile out of his robe pocket, the vile he’s been carrying around since that morning, and places it in the middle of Draco’s essay. He grunts, and tries to shove it to the side, but Harry’s quicker, and he pins his hand down before he can even touch the glass.

“Take the Medicine Malfoy.” Draco wrinkles his nose, either at the thought of having to down the dreaded pepper-up or at being called Malfoy. At this point, Harry isn’t sure he cares.

“You know I hate it”

“I know you do.” Harry releases his hand to drag his own across his boyfriend's sweaty forehead, and down across flushed cheeks. Draco looks hopeful for a moment, leaning into the touch, and Harry thinks that on a normal day he might relish crushing his dreams. “You still have to take it though.”

At this, he stands, rounding the small table, once again swiping the potion out of reach before Draco can grab at it, before stepping forward and holding it out.

Draco pouts and crosses his arms. Harry can’t decide if he finds the childish petulance annoying or endearing.

“Now you’re just being childish.”

Draco slumps down in his chair and looks up at Harry through his lashes, for the first time looking as sick as he actually is.

“Harry?”

“Yes, love?”

“I don’t feel well.”

“I know Draco. You’ll feel better if you just took the potion, you know. If you actually relaxed, instead of pushing yourself”

“Ya, I know, but I’ve got this essay and if I-”

“No, you’re done for today.”

“But Harry-”

“No.”

Draco sighs, nodding reluctantly, and Harry pockets the vile for the moment, reaching down to help roll up the scattered parchments and tuck them neatly into the leather bag at their feet- he’d learned a long time ago that shoving Draco’s assignments into his bag like Harry does with his own was a quick and surefire way to s week straight without any kind of physical contact.

Draco lays his head on the table a moment later, eyes closed, obviously content to let him finish cleaning up. Harry brushes the hair back from his forehead, running a thumb across the bridge of his nose, before going back to work. He can still hear Draco humming happily, even as he moves around the table to collect his own things.

When their bags are full he casts their usual disillusionment charm, and half carries Draco out of the Library, steering him away from the dungeon stairs where he seems to be heading out of instinct and towards the staircase that leads to the 8th year common room. Harry’s pretty sure that it’s still early enough in the afternoon that it should be almost empty.

His theory appears to hold sound, and when he creaks the common room door open, there’s only one student bent over the desk in the far corner. She appears to be sleeping, and Harry flicks his wand and drapes the Weasley afghan that’s taken permanent residence on the couch over her shoulders. The elves may keep the fire burning at a constant, but the tower tended to get drafty, and, obviously, there’s something going around.

He nudges Draco ahead of him, towards the stairs, and though he appears as if he’s half asleep he takes the stairs without difficulty, reaching for Harry’s door before blinking and moving to open his own.

“Don’t want to get you sick.” He croaks, and Harry snorts. He appreciates the sentiment, but he’s pretty sure its a moot point by then anyway.

 

Draco’s room looks like he’s been sick, wastebasket pilled high with tissues and sweaters and scarves slung over chairs and the bed frame with abandon. The distinguishing mark of someone with a fever.

With the school still half in ruin, the students had been tasked with keeping their own spaces, for the most part, and Harry hadn’t minded, but he’s now beginning to see the appeal of having an elf clean your space every time you vacated it when you were sick.

Harry ushered him forwards towards the bed, letting him fall in.

“Are you hungry? Do you want me to bring you something back from dinner?”

“No. No, someone will notice that you’re bringing food and ask you why.”

Harry smiles, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Maybe. Hermione would probably figure it out in ten seconds flat. But you know I don’t care about that. I like having you to myself, but part of me wants the world to know how much I love you.”

His cheeks are burning as he says this, but he forgives himself for being soppy, if only because Draco looks pitiful laid up across the bed like he is.

He leans down, pressing a quick kiss to his forehead, and then he once again holds out the bottle of potion.

“Now. You’re going to take this.”

Draco rolls over, facing the opposite direction, mumbling something Harry can’t hear but suspects is probably ‘stubborn git’.

He snorts. “No, come on. Don’t roll away from me.”

Lying flat on his face now, groaning and mumbling and yanking the blanket up and over his hips. Harry can’t hear a word he’s saying but still seems to understand perfectly.

“I swear to Merlin. Don’t make me go get Pansy. Or fire-call your mother.”

Draco sits up now, elbows tucked underneath him. “You wouldn’t”

Harry shrugs, twirling the bottle lazily and inspecting the bounce of light. His attempts at nonchalance are usually met with a blank, unbelieving stare, but it seems to be working this time.

Draco narrows his eyes, and Harry only has a split second to recognize the expression on his face before Draco’s out of bed again, and around the corner of the door frame.

Harry springs up, barely keeping his balance.

“Draco! Get back here! What are you doing?” No answer. Harry tears through the door after him, skidding to a stop and pounding down the stairs. “You can’t just run away from this! Take the goddamned pepper-up you-” but Harry doesn’t have time to finish the sentence, because he slams into something hard, realizing at the last second that it is, in fact, his boyfriend, and barely manages to wrap an arm around his waist, pulling him back to his chest, and locking his elbow to keep him from toppling forward again.

“What are you doing?” Harry says, shaking his head to try and free himself from the mop of blond hair that is in his face. He feels long hands press into his, before fluttering up again, and then yanking at his arm. He holds tighter. He can’t see, but he refuses to let him get away that easily.

“Draco. What-”

“Harry.” Draco’ voice is barely above a whisper. And it’s then that someone coughs and Harry’s head shoot up and sideways, trying to catch a glimpse of the common room. He’s met with a crowd of stunned 8th and 7th years, gaping mouths and raised eyebrows, and right at the front, a smirking Hermione.

Harry coughs awkwardly, releasing his arm and stepping to the side.

“Er... Hi guys.”

Beside him, Draco snorts, which quickly turns into a cough, and then a sneeze. Harry raises an eyebrow. Just a little, just enough for Draco too see, and know he intends to pour that pepper-up down his throat if he has too.

“Hi, Harry. Hi Draco.”

This is Luna, and Harry is infinitely grateful she is the first one to have spoken.

With the ice seemingly broken, most of the students disperse, quiet, whispered conversations just audible enough for Harry to catch snippets of his name. And Draco’s. He sighs.

“So, mate.”

Harry groans, leans sideways, resting his head on Draco’s shoulder. He can almost hear Hermione’s smirk. And when he opens his eyes, his four friends are grinning at him.

He sneezes.

Draco grabs the pepper-up from his hand and downs it, wincing at the flavour, and flashing him a smile that is equal parts guilty and amused.

Harry doesn’t know what he’s going to do with him.


End file.
